Ghost Ship

Writing Club

January 9, 2018

This story is a bit scruffy.  I was typing to the last minute to get it done in 20 minutes.  I have to admit, I did edit before posting.  It's a little dark and disgusting, but not every story should be coming up roses.  That's what makes a timed writing prompt fun-letting the imagination roll with the tide and wild seahorses loose.  Hmmm. Seahorses not so quick. Barracudas better?

Time allotted: 20 minutes

Prompt:  "Wake up! They’ve come aboard during the night."

            Gert pounded on the door.  "Wake up!  They've come aboard during the night!"

            What came aboard?  They couldn't have reached harbour already? Half a sleep, Bill rubbed his groggy face and stretched, wondering if it was his turn for watch already?  Couldn’t be.  The sun hadn’t woke yet.  He wasn’t due till half past 5.  All Bill wanted to do was roll over in his hammock to face the wall and put a pillow over his head.  The rocking ship would sink him back to dream land in a wink.  

Now that he was up, he couldn’t ignore the scurrying and scratching.  As the clanging and clattering began, he swung out of his hammock a little to swiftly and landed face first on the floor.  Finding his sea legs, he ambled across the room and let the rocking of the boat sink him into a chair to tug on his boots.  

            That was odd, his boots hadn’t had any holes before.  One boot began to dance and flopped over.  The midnight occupant rolled out and scuttled across the floor.  In the dark cabin, Bill made out a small ball of fur and a skinny tail.  Ship rat.  Picking up the closest weapon his fingers fumbled over, he threw a wooden clog at it. Old Dutchie’d never know Bill borrowed his shoe.  It struck the little beastie satisfactorily, stopping it fast.  

            With a smile, Bill swayed towards the portside door and gave it a hearty push. There was a gale going on outside. Gert ran past him along the deck. Dutchie and Scooter were yelling into the wind something mighty fierce and hammering away on something the far side of the boat. Something rushed over his toes.  The waves were coming on strong, but it wasn’t a wash of water.

            Bill rubbed his eyes.  The floor boards were moving.  They looked alive.  He’d forgotten his specks in the cabin.  As he turned to run back to grab them, that’s when he spied the sea of vagrants, hairy and hungry.

            Gert ran by again, passing him a spear.  Flabbergasted, Bill froze.  Everything was covered in rats.  Scurrying up over his feet, scrambling up his pants.  Beating them off as they bit and scratched, he stumbled over them, stepping on little writhing bodies.  

            Torch in hand, Dutchie appeared from the bow.  “Ghost ship.  We struck in the dark and held fast.  Now that we're freed, do we set her alight?”  

            

            "A little late for that.  Her passengers have already disembarked."  Gert shouted as he skewered one.

            As the horde flowed below deck, Bill’s only thought was, “What happens when all the grain in the hull is gone?”